Playing With Fire
by Greyleaf
Summary: Honest and for true, I had the idea for this story before episode 6 aired. Because of the similarities, I almost didn't pursue it, but then I thought, What the hey. Besides, the story wouldn't leave me alone.


Reese settled into place in time to see the neatly dressed man step out of the back of the gray limo and onto the sidewalk. The driver had started to get out, but the passenger had waived her off and she settled back into the seat. Neat dresser glanced around. The street was poorly lit and, at this hour, sparsely populated. The little bar had a couple of tables and chairs out on the sidewalk, probably for smokers. The bar appeared to be closed. Reese could just make out a figure standing next to the bar's front door. The figure moved forward and revealed itself to be a man a good twenty years older than the limo passenger. As the two men moved to one of the tables, Reese's attention moved back to the limo driver.

Sarah Johnson was the Person of Interest this night. Finch had been filling Reese in on what he had found out about her while Reese had tailed the limo from the garage it had left forty minutes earlier. She was fifty, white and had joined a limo company as a driver after she had been laid off from her management job with a transportation company seven years ago. Five years ago she'd left and went to work for another limo company, a startup, Discreet Transportation Services, which appeared to have a more exclusive clientele. The new company operated out of a garage where it shared space with Jesus Ortega's Body Works and Machine Shop. Sarah had an apartment on the 3rd floor of the same building.

"That's convenient." Reese had commented to this last bit of information.

"Isn't it," Finch had responded, a shadow of suspicion in his voice. Then Finch made an even more interesting discovery.

"Sarah Johnson is the only employee of Discrete Transportation Services".

"What kind of company has only…?" Reese's voice trailed off as the answer to his question came to him.

"The kind where the employee is also the owner." Finch finished the thought. "She went to some trouble to hide that fact."

"Probably felt it was safer that clients not know. Well," Reese continued, "that eliminates the employer as the source of the danger. What about husbands, ex-husbands, boyfriends," Reese's eyebrow lifted, "girlfriends?"

"Never married, no joint leases or rental agreements. No restraining orders."

Reese was silent as he digested this. "What about the Garage owner, Ortega. What's the deal there?"

"Jesus Ortega. Most people call him Chuy. Sarah's shared the space with Mr. Ortega's shop since she started her own business. She'd gotten to know him when he did some work for the previous company. When the extra space became available, she apparently took advantage of it to start out on her own. Doesn't seem to be any conflict there."

"Well, things can change; relationships can go sour. People can make bad decisions. Keep looking."

After a few moments of silence, Finch spoke again, his voice once again tinged with suspicion, "Here's something. She started her business with one limo. Three years ago she was able to buy a second, bigger limo. Paid in full."

"Now, where did she get that kind of money? Limos aren't cheap."

"Can't say," Finch responded. "There's no sign of her having come into money, no inheritance, no trust funds, no loans. The business certainly wouldn't have generated that much capital that soon."

"So," Reese said speculatively, "what did Sarah do to get that much money?"

Reese trained the night vision binoculars on Sarah. She was maneuvering a small device (a recorder?) in an obvious attempt to aim it toward the two figures sitting at one of the small tables not 6 feet from the car.

"Looks like she's trying to record their conversation," Reese told Finch.

"Not video?"

"It's too dark to get any good pictures, but the audio may be good enough if the window's down."

"So," Finch said, "it's blackmail."

"Looks like it. Were you able to get any info on her passenger from the pictures I sent you earlier?"

"Yes. He's Christopher Black. Officially, he's in Import/Exports."

"And unofficially?"

"Well, the police think he's been trying to work his way into one of the local syndicates. He's been seen in meetings with …'representatives' of two of them."

"Two of them? Sounds risky."

"Maybe he's exploring his options."

"Maybe. Is this guy he's meeting with right now likely to be one of them?"

"Probably. That bar is owned by a family member of Joe Wilson. He's one of the two people with whom Black has been meeting."

"Is Wilson, say, fifty something, about 5 foot 8..." Reese said, training the binoculars on the older man who shifted slightly in his chair, revealing a suspicious bulge under his jacket. "Carries a gun?"

"Yes. Sounds as if Ms. Johnson picked the wrong people to blackmail."

Reese took one last look at Sarah in the limo. She appeared to still be recording.

"Do you still have a track on the limo's GPS?" Reese asked Finch.

"Of course. Why?"

"Keep tabs on her. I'm going to the garage. I'll need you to get me in past the building's security system." Reese started to slip away from his hiding place.

"Do you think it wise to leave Ms. Johnson now?"

"Of course," Reese replied. "She hasn't tried to blackmail him yet. Besides, he still needs a ride back. Have you ever tried to get a cab at this time of night?"

The garage door rattled and clanked its way back down as Sarah eased the limo into its place in the garage. The automatic lights stayed on long enough for Sarah to get out of the limo and to her office where she hit a switch just inside the door. The walls of her office jutted out from the back and side walls of her side of the large space. The office had a desk directly opposite the door, facing it. There was a chair behind the desk, another against the wall, a few certificates and photos above it. A small window in one wall looked out into the garage, giving a view of the whole garage even over to Ortega's side, all of it now dimly lit. Below the window, a coffee maker was tucked out of the way on a small table next to the spare chair. Next to the door was bookshelf with a variety of books, mostly paperbacks, and, on another wall, a large map of the city, showing the 5 boroughs. Both of these attested to an attachment to pre-digital technology. Through another door at the back a sink could be seen, indicating a restroom. Sarah walked to the chair behind the desk, empting her pockets. She tossed her keys and a wad of bills and a slim wallet on the desk and turned on the lamp that sat to one side of the laptop. As she sat, she placed her recorder into the docking station on the other side of the computer. She sat for a brief moment, unbuttoning the top buttons of her gray jacket. Then, she shifted forward in her chair and pushed some buttons on the recorder. The speakers of the docking station came to life, the audio indistinct at first then resolving itself into two voices in conversation.

From his vantage point in a dark corner of the garage, Reese couldn't hear the recording but he could see Sarah frowning in concentration as she listened. She stopped and replayed one portion, then sat very still as the recording played itself out. She suddenly grabbed the keys on the table and threw them across the small office, yelling. "Sonofabitch!"

Reese chose this moment to slip through the door way, stepping sideways to stand next to the bookshelf.

"Having second thoughts?' his quiet voice sounding loud in the silence after her outburst.

Sarah, surprised, stared at Reese for several heartbeats, then started to scrabble for something under her desk, keeping an eye on him. She stopped when Reese produced a long fiberglass rod from behind the bookshelf, asking, "Looking for this?" Reese spared a look at the weapon. "Electric cattle prod. Effective." he commented and, watching her, placed it back behind the bookshelf.

Sarah was standing now, her face flushed, eyes wary. "Who the hell are _you_?" she spat out. "What do you want?"

"I'm here to save your life." Reese responded.

Sarah sat down, hard, staring at Reese. "How did you find out?" she asked, glancing at the recorder on her desk.

Reese continued to stand by the door. "Let's just say, I have my sources. And blackmail is a dangerous business." Sarah looked at Reese in astonishment. "I watched you record that meeting between your client and the other man in front of that bar tonight."

It took Sarah a moment to find her voice. "And you think I was going to blackmail the bastard?"

"Weren't you?

"No. I was going to turn him in to one of those crime tip hotlines," she said in disgust. "Not that it matters now." She gestured at the recorder. "If I don't turn him in, I'm dead. If I do, he'll know it was me and I'm dead. Sonofabitch." she said again, this time in disbelief.

Sarah had the recording queued up again. She'd removed her jacket, which was now hanging on the back of her chair, her cuffed sleeves rolled up. She'd pulled her graying hair more firmly back from her face. "The first voice is my 'client'", Sarah said. "His last name is Anderson." Reese was standing behind her, waiting to hear the recording.

"His real name is Christopher Black", Reese informed her. Sarah shook her head and swore as she pushed the playback button. It was noisy at first and faint. Reese asked, "Are you getting this?"

"Not too well," Finch's voice said in his ear. "Get your phone closer." Sarah started to say something, then realized that Reese wasn't speaking to her. This close, she had heard the voice from Reese's earpiece. Sarah watched Reese in silence as he removed it and placed his cell phone closer to the speakers.

"…all arraigned. I'll pick him up tomorrow night at ten. He doesn't suspect a thing. I've convinced him that your employer sees this latest heist at the warehouse as bold and showing initiative." Black's voice was dripping with scorn. "It wasn't hard. The little bastard thinks pretty highly of himself already."

The older man chuckled. "Well, it was pretty daring, especially since he seems to have pulled it off by himself. He was already on our radar because of some other jobs he'd done." The older man continued, "Too bad he had the bad luck to hit one of our warehouses. I guess we should be grateful that he showed us a weakness in our security. However, he showed even poorer judgment when he practically bragged about it."

"I guess," Black said, "he was tying to get your attention."

"Well," the other responded, "he succeeded, didn't he." Both men laughed.

The older man's voice roughened and he cleared his throat. "So, it'll be just you with him in the limo. If you pick him up at ten, you should be at the old wharf about eleven." Black made a noise of agreement. "I'll be there, waiting," the older man said, "I'll be alone. That should keep him from getting jumpy."

"Just you?" Black sounded surprised. "You're not bringing anyone else?"

"What, you think I can't take out one punkass kid? Besides, you'll be there." The older man must have shifted closer to Black, his voice dropping. "But, what about this driver? We can't have anyone who can say we were even there."

Black's voice was also low. Reese reached past Sarah to turn the volume up again. "Don't worry, we'll take care of her, too. I figure, what better message to send to anyone else who might be thinking about trying to set himself up against your organization than to show you're not worried about 'collateral damage'?"

"Isn't this the same driver you used last night? Won't they be able to connect you with her?"

"Nah. I used the name 'Anderson' when I contacted the company and I used a pre-paid credit card to pay in advance. The phone is a throwaway." Black sounded very pleased with himself. "There's nothing to tie me to the transaction."

After a moment, Wilson spoke, his tone of voice indicating he was impressed. "Well, I have to hand it to you, Chris. We felt you would be a good asset, but this will prove you'll fit right in." There was a sound of a hand slapping a jacketed shoulder. Then the recording ended.

Sarah spoke into the silence. "I stopped recording at that point. I could hear most of what they'd said, but I…couldn't believe it. I drove Ander…Black back to the restaurant where I'd picked him up. He actually had the chutzpah to give me a tip." she said, nodding at the wad of cash on the desk. "It was all I could do to take it and smile."

Reese was thoughtful. "You took Black to see this other guy, this 'punkass'?"

Sarah nodded. "Yes; last night. Apparently, 'punkass' was cautious enough to insist that the meeting happen on his terms. I drove Black to another bar on 5th about ten. 'Punkass' was waiting in an alley behind the bar. It was pretty dark, so I couldn't really see anything. But, I figured they were up to something not-so-legal and recorded them. Here," she shifted forward and queued up the earlier recording. "Black's voice is first."

"..certainly made an impression on my client."

A second voice, younger. "Yeah? Well, that's good." the young man's voice was cocky if a bit nervous. "I'd been wondering if he'd noticed. This wasn't my first job, y'know."

"Oh, we know, Ben. My client was aware of you before; but this last job really piqued his interest, so to speak." Black's voice was almost fawning and it was apparent that the young Ben was eating it up.

"Yeah, well, like I said before, I really think I could be a real help to your…client and I'd like to set up a meet."

"Well, Ben, you've gotten your wish. Day after tomorrow, I'll take you to meet with my client's recruiter. He'll explain to you what's expected, how things work, where you stand, you know, in the organization."

The conversation continued, Ben and Black finalizing the plans for the meet. Then the recording ended.

Reese asked Finch, "Did you get that?"

Finch's voice came over Reese's phone. "Yes. I wonder why Black didn't just kill Ben there in the alley."

"Probably couldn't be sure there weren't others involved." Reese said.

"So, we know when and where Black will pick up Ben, but do we know more specifically where they're going to end up? There are several 'old wharves' to choose from." Reese looked at Sarah, who shook her head.

"Black told me that after we'd picked up his 'client' tomorrow we'd be going to another address, but he didn't say where."

"And we don't know what Ben looks like." Reese said to the phone. "I can be at the pick up point, but, for this to work, I need to know who to look for." Reese looked back at Sarah. "Did you see anything of this Ben at all?"

"Well, no.", she said, looking back at the recorder. "But, I believe you're looking for a white male, mid twenties and I'm pretty sure he's asthmatic. Does that help?" she asked, looking back up at Reese.

Reese was now looking at Sarah appraisingly. "Anything else?"

"Well, he probably grew up in The Bronx, but I didn't think that part would help in this case." She smiled a little sheepishly as Reese continued to look at her. "Sorry. A talent I developed in my misspent youth."

Finch's voice asked, "Can you use that?"

Reese looked back at the phone. "Well, it will help narrow down the possibilities." Reese looked back at Sarah. "You sure about the asthma?"

She nodded, pointing to the recorder. "While they're hashing out the time and place of the pick up, his voice gets a little wheezy. And then there's a sound that makes me think he used an inhaler. I've a nephew with the same problem."

Reese nodded. "Here's what we're going to do. As you say, Sarah," looking at her, "if we turn Black and Wilson in at this point, it wouldn't be long before they figured out who tipped the authorities. So, we need to make sure they won't suspect you. I'm going to plant a recording device on Ben. That will make it seem that he was the one who tipped the police. But I need to be sure I've got the right guy. So, I want you to be late picking up Black, say about 15 minutes." Sarah started to object, but Reese cut her off. "I need him to call Ben to tell him of the delay. Black's got too much riding on this and he won't want Ben to get spooked and not be there. You'll call Black a few minutes before you're to pick him up; tell him that, oh, there's a delivery truck blocking traffic. And, when he calls Ben, I'll be watching for him to answer. We'll tip the police after you put the address of the meeting place into the GPS and you and your passengers are almost there."

Sarah's expression was one of bemusement. "Great. So now the _capullo_ who is planning to kill me will be pissed as well."

Reese frowned a little. "Can you do this?"

"Oh, I can do it," she said. "But I don't have to like it."

Reese picked up his phone and re-placed his earpiece. He retrieved the cattle prod and handed it back to Sarah, obviously no longer concerned about her trying to use it. He started walking through the garage to the door that let out onto the street, Sarah following. "I'll be back here tomorrow before you have to leave. We'll go over our plans then." Reese opened the door.

"Hey, wait." Sarah called said and Reese turned back. "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

"You can call me John." Reese responded.

"O-ka-ay. And what about him," nodding toward the phone in his hand. "The guy on the phone. What do I call him?"

"You don't need to know his name."

"Well, no, I guess I don't need to know." Sarah's voice betraying some frustration. "I guess I can just refer to him as 'Mystery Voice'."

Reese pauses and then responded, " 'Mystery Voice' will do.", and headed out into the dark.

"A little over three years ago, I had a client who made me suspicious from the start. Bits and pieces of things he said, places he had me take him, people he was meeting. He was practically begging to have someone drop dime on him. So," Sarah shrugged, "I obliged. Turned out that he'd been involved in some bank robberies and arms sales. Between the crime tip rewards and what the Federal Marshall's were offering, I got a significant chunk of change."

Reese was sitting in the spare chair and Sarah was in the one behind the desk. She was already dressed in her gray livery, her hair pulled loosely back from her face. There were the remnants of a meal on the desk, apparently bought at a nearby pub whose name and address were on the napkins. "That's what you used to buy the second limo." Reese nodded his head toward the garage.

They'd been talking for some minutes, Reese trying to dispel some of the tension he'd seen in Sarah when she'd let him in earlier. He'd brought up the crime tip hotline both because he was trying to put her at ease and because he was curious. "Have you made any other calls to the hotline?"

Sarah smiled a little. "Yes, but nothing nearly as lucrative." She hesitated. "Actually, I've done two others, but I didn't keep the money."

Reese looked at her inquiringly.

"I gave the money to a local charity that Chuy is involved with." Her smile broadened. "He doesn't know."

Reese checked the time. Sarah checked her watch in turn. Reese saw some of the tension return. He reached across the desk and picked up her cell. "Let's make sure we're all tied in to your phone."

"You mean you and 'Mystery Voice?'". Sarah was smiling a little.

Reese smiled back. "Yes. Me and 'Mystery Voice'". He handed the phone back. Sarah wiped her palm on her pant leg before taking the phone.

"Nervous?" he asked.

Sarah gave a bark of laughter. "_Scared_. In this job, I've dealt with drunks, morons, drunken morons, and lechers. I've had people who treat me like an indentured servant and people who don't know how to treat me. This, I must say, is the first time I've ever had someone planning to kill me."

"Best not to think about it, then." Reese changed the subject. "So, why _did_ you become a limo driver?"

Sarah looked up at him surprise. A small smile acknowledged his attempt to distract her. "I like driving. When I got laid off I decided it was time for a career change." She shrugged. "It was either this or long haul trucking."

It was Reese's turn to be surprised. "So, why didn't you go with trucking?"

"I thought it would be too dangerous." Sarah's smile was wry. "And the hours suck."

Before he left, Reese produced a small pistol wrapped in a cloth. He held it out to Sarah, keeping the cloth between his hand and the weapon. Sarah looked at it then back at Reese.

"Do you know how to use this?" he asked.

She shrugged. "How hard can it be? You pull this", she pointed to the trigger. "And the bullet comes out here." now pointing to the barrel. "Do I really need to have one?"

"If something goes wrong, I want you to be able to defend yourself."

"But, what do I tell the cops?"

"If everything goes well, wipe the gun and throw it under the limo. Since it's reported as stolen, the police will assume it belongs to one of the bad guys."

"And if things go badly?"

"You tell them that, after the shooting started, you found it on the ground and picked it up." He pointed to a lever on the gun. "This is the safety." He demonstrated how to release it then put it back. "It's on now. It will need to be off to use it. Keep it under the seat. Pull it out when it's safe to do so and put it in your pocket." Sarah nodded, and, taking a deep breath, took the gun from his hand. When she looked up, Reese held her gaze. "Just do everything the way we planned. I'll be at the wharf, waiting." He paused. "Everything will be fine."

Sarah seemed unconvinced. "Yeah, that's why you gave me the gun."

Sarah called Black 5 minutes before she was to show up. She apologized, there'd been a delivery truck blocking the road, traffic had to squeeze around it, she was going to be ten to fifteen minutes late, couldn't be helped; did he want her to call his client and explain? Black cut her off, obviously angry, saying "Just _get_ here." He hung up.

Reese's voice in her ear said, "Good work. Now we'll see…" there was a pause. Then, "Got him."

Sarah arrived fifteen minutes late. Black was obviously fuming. Finch watched through a camera at the corner as she stood in front of him, apologizing and gesticulating, repeating the story about the delivery truck. Black made a dismissive gesture and Sarah opened the door to let him in the car. Sarah got in and glanced at Black in the rearview as she fastened her seatbelt. Black was back on the phone. He'd rolled up the privacy glass, so she couldn't hear, so neither could Reese and Finch. As she eased into traffic, she said quietly, not looking at Black, "He's making more calls."

Reese's voice said in her ear, "He's just letting Wilson know that he's running late. If you can, you may want to make up a little time."

At the hotel, Sarah stopped in front of the man that Black indicated. He was, as Sarah had surmised, white, mid twenties. The camera that Finch was using here was closer than the last and he could plainly see the Bronx Bomber logo on the black jacket he was wearing. Sarah hopped out and greeted him, calling him "Sir" and opened the rear door, Black staying back and out of sight. Ben at least had enough sense to check who was in the back seat before getting in. As she settled back in the driver's seat, Black rolled down the glass and handed her a piece of paper over the back of the seat. She took it and, as she read it, he asked, "Got it?" He was still pissed at the delay, but Sarah's "Very good, sir." seemed to mollify him somewhat. He rolled the glass back up.

Sarah entered the address into the limo's GPS system and was relieved to hear Mystery Voice say, mirroring John, "Got it."

Reese watched the gray limo as it pulled into the parking lot of the warehouse at the old wharf. There were always derelict buildings in this part of the bay and the recent economy had helped to add to the number, making this area even more remote. Reese had no problem finding a place to keep an eye on things without being seen. There was already a black town car waiting, positioned in such a way that as Wilson stood next to it he had his back to the solitary light on the pole behind the car. As Reese had instructed her, Sarah pulled the grey limo around so that the driver side was away from the other car. The drivers' door opened and she trotted around to the passenger door on the other side, letting first Ben, then Black out of the car. As they moved toward the other car, she slipped back to the drivers' side and stood next to the door.

As Reese watched Ben and Black he said, "I see Ben's been drinking."

Sarah responded quietly, "Black was pretty generous with the booze."

Finch's voice said, "John, I made the 'anonymous tip' to the police some time ago. Shouldn't we be hearing police sirens by now?"

Reese's voice was calm. "Patience. These things take time. By the way, Sarah, do you have the gun I gave you?"

"Yes." Her voice sounding a little strained. "Please make it so I don't have to use it."

"I concur." Finch was also sounding stressed. "Surely they should have been there by now."

Reese had been watching the trio of men. From the body language, everything had started out friendly, though Ben was drunk enough that when the conversation started to turn nasty he didn't recognize his danger. Reese pulled out his gun. "Sarah," he said as he sighted down the barrel, "I want you to get down behind the wheel."

"Now?"

"Now," Reese confirmed as Wilson pulled out his gun and used it to backhand Ben with a blow that Reese could hear even at this distance, dropping Ben to his knees. At the same time, Reese squeezed off a shot and the older man clutched his leg and fell to the ground with a yell, his pistol flying out of his hand. Black started toward Wilson or maybe the gun, but changed his mind when another round from Reese's gun kicked up dirt from the ground in front of him. He staggered back and then turned and ran for the limo. Two more shots at his feet brought him up short, frantically looking around. Ben, in the meantime, had gotten to his hands and knees and was doing his drunken best to get anywhere else. At that moment, sirens could be heard and Reese spared a glance to see how close the police cars were. He looked back to assess the scene: the older man was still moaning on the ground, clutching his leg; Ben had gotten as far as the edge of the pool of light before being sick from the liquor and the fear. Black had decided not to move from where he stopped. Reese put another shot at his feet between him and the limo just to make sure he stayed there.

Reese slipped away as the police cars came to screeching stop, gravel and dirt flying. As he made his way to the hole in the perimeter fence in a dark corner of the lot, he spoke to Sarah. "Are you okay?" She started to answer, but her throat caught and she had to start again.

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Have you set the gun down?"

"Yes."

"Just stay where you are. The police will be asking a lot of questions. Just tell them what we discussed; don't volunteer anything. Just answer their questions."

Sarah took a deep breath.

"Got it."

Reese slipped in to the seat across from Sarah in the booth, setting his drink on the table between them. She was sitting in a quiet corner of the Irish pub that was not far from where she lived and worked. Walking distance, in fact, which was good, because she'd been there awhile and was on her second glass of wine. She didn't seem terribly surprised to see him.

"I hope you don't need me to drive you anywhere, 'cause I believe I'm over the limit." Sarah lifted her glass for another sip.

"Just checking to see how things went with the police."

She set her glass down. "Pretty good. They seemed to accept what I told them and how I'd gotten the gun. That detective, what's his name, Fusco? He kept looking at me kinda funny." Sarah looked at Reese. "Is he someone you've had dealings with?"

"You could say that."

"Well, anyway, I'm supposed to go down and give statement tomorrow."

Reese nodded, then peered at her. "How are you doing?"

"Remarkably well, especially considering where I'd be at this point if you hadn't shown up. You and Mystery Voice. Thank you. And thank him for me as well."

Reese took a sip of his drink. "I have to compliment you. Your guesses about Ben were pretty good. I almost didn't need the phone call to confirm."

Sarah's smile was open. "Well, as I said, it's a skill that served me well. Won quite a few bar bets."

Reese smiled back, and took another sip. He set his glass down, looking at it. "Are you always that accurate?"

She shrugged. "When I've been able to confirm my guesses, sure."

Reese looked at her. "So what would you 'guess' about Mystery Voice?"

Sarah looked surprised, then her eyes narrowed a little, assessing. "You work with him. You can't ask him yourself?"

"He's a very private man."

Sarah leaned back against the back of the booth, playing with her wine glass, looking at Reese. She finished her wine and set the glass down, leaning forward.

"John, Discrete Transportation Services respects their clients' privacy. So, I'll make you a deal. I won't tell you what I guess about him and I won't tell him what I guess about you."

Sarah put some cash on the table for the waiter's tip.

"Well, I should go now. I've got a date at the police station tomorrow morning." She paused in the act of sliding out of the booth. She reached her hand towards Reese's, but didn't quite touch him. Her look was friendly. "Listen, you're both good people and I owe you more than I could possibly repay. If you ever need the use of a limo or my help at all, just let me know."

Reese continued to sit at the booth after she left, studying his drink. He was still there a few minutes later when Finch's call came. "Did you check on Ms. Johnson?"

"Yes. She's doing fine. And I think we shouldn't have any problems with her saying anything." Reese took a swallow of his drink. "She also said we could have use of her limo service, should we need it."

"Could be useful. If you think we can trust her discretion."

"Oh, I think we can."


End file.
